Way Down We Go
by cardemon
Summary: "We can protect you here," Negan's voice broke through her thoughts. Marceline looked up at him, blinking. "We take care of our own. All you have to do," he said, raising his newly refilled glass, "is say yes." She could see the smirk of victory in his eyes with every second that passed, and it frustrated her to know that he already knew her answer before she even voiced it aloud.
1. Chapter 1

**Welcome, and thanks for clicking on my story.**

 **Let me be forthcoming and say that this story is going to strictly focus on** _ **quality,**_ **not quantity; meaning that more often than not, these chapters will be shorter and longer than others, meaning that they'll begin and end where it benefits the story. I'm not particularly fussed about the word count, but I can promise you quality, and if you can appreciate that, I thank you – it means a lot.**

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If you asked someone why they did the things that they did, what would their answer be? Would they be truthful in their response, or would they lie to cover up their true intentions? It's not a terribly difficult question to answer, one might think; but little do some people know is that their answer will most likely be the very reason for losing everything – including the reason why they do the things that they do.

It's difficult to say, you think to yourself. There are a million reasons why people do the things that they do, and a million more reasons why they might lie to you about it. So, how are you to accurately predict what their answer might be?

Whether they answer the question or not, their reasons all stem from the same motive: that they were doing it either for themselves or for somebody else, and more often than not, it's the latter; they say that they did those things – those awful, terrible things – in order to protect someone else, even if it cost them their own life.

And it was this very reason that resulted in my capture, and by default, my imprisonment.

I wasn't shy about my reasons for doing the things that I did; I knew that they were wrong, and was equally aware of how my past decisions had resulted in other people's deaths. But at the time, I didn't care; my reason for doing those things was still alive, and so long as it remained that way, they knew that I was willing to keep on doing those things for them – and more.

But ironically, I'm ashamed to admit why.

Well, to put it simply, I'm not yet prepared to wholeheartedly admit to _myself_ why I did those things, nor why I choose to keep doing them. The people around me knew it, including whom I was doing it all for, but I wasn't yet ready to accept it. So instead, I ignored everything and everyone around me, therefore making it much easier to keep going and to keep doing the things that I did, which resulted in a rather questionable moral compass that would disgust and even frighten a past version of myself.

But like I said earlier, I didn't care. I still don't care, because even if I had the choice to reconsider my past decisions, I wouldn't; my reasons for doing what I did would still remain the same.

At the sound of footsteps, I opened my eyes, listening to the familiar metallic dance of keys, wondering briefly just how many damn keys were on that chain. Last week I guessed there were about eleven, judging by how heavy they sounded. Today, I changed my guess to maybe around thirteen, maybe fifteen, perhaps more. I'd never actually seen the keys before, so it was just an educated guess at the most.

The door then opened; the harsh scrape of metal against concrete causing the involuntary grind of my teeth, and the distaste of the sound made me feel suddenly dirty, like I could feel every single particle of dirt that was on my hands and face. The urge to wash my hands was unbearable.

The door seemed to open at a much slower pace than usual. Or maybe I was just tired. Either way, I didn't bother to see who had entered; they never stayed more than a few moments, anyway. A tray of food was usually placed by the door of the cell, and then they would leave. Sometimes I would eat, but on other days I couldn't even bring myself to reach through the bars.

It was always someone different; I could tell by their footsteps and the way they walked. They never once spoke to me, but I knew what they were after – and I briefly wondered if they knew that I wasn't going to give them what they wanted.

When the footsteps came to a stop, I didn't look up; I never had a reason to, and wasn't planning to start now. When no tray of food was placed on the floor, and was instead replaced by the sound of a chair being dragged to the centre of the room, I'll admit that I briefly entertained the idea of giving whoever it was the satisfaction of looking up, but I was smart enough to know where this was going.

And so, I waited for them to speak.

"You didn't eat yesterday," he said as the chair groaned underneath his weight.

"And I didn't eat the day before that, either, so what's your point?"

"So, you're ready to talk, then?"

"We both already know that I'm not going to do that," I said.

He sighed. "We can help you."

"I don't need help."

"Then you can help us," he insisted. "People have died – good people. We don't want anyone else to die."

"People die every day," I replied curtly. "It happens."

He suddenly shot to his feet, his tall shadow looming over me as the chair squealed harshly against the concrete floor. "But you can help us stop this – you can help us stop _him_. No one else has to die."

I let out a dry cough. "What makes you think I want to help you?"

"We can keep you safe," he argued, voice growing softer, almost pleading. "If you help us, if you stay, you'll be safe here. We won't let anything happen to you."

"You're wasting your time, Rick," I said slowly, finally letting my eyes lock with his and enjoying the brief flicker of shock reflected in his eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Just a heads-up – this story isn't in chronological order. Also, there's a reason for the switching of perspectives, which you'll eventually work out why.**

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Elbow deep in the bowels of a dormant engine, Marceline was desperately attempting to tighten one of the last remaining bolts, the process taking much longer than anticipated; thick, black grease coated every inch of her fingers, and every attempt made to wipe them down the front of her shirt was futile.

"Hurry, they'll be back soon!"

Marceline cursed under her breath and furiously wiped her hands on her shirt for what would have had to have been the eighth time in the past few minutes, ignoring the way her greasy shirt clung to her skin. Her grip on the handle of the wrench was feeble at best; without the aid of a jack, she couldn't get underneath the car safely, and nonetheless had to go from the top instead. Neither her or her companion could fit underneath anyway due to the uneven terrain, and one of them had to keep an eye out for trouble.

"Just keep the light steady!"

The sun had set long ago, leaving Marceline and her male companion in perpetual darkness – save for their flashlight – but she couldn't stop now; she'd been working on this engine for weeks, and it was so close to being finished.

Another three members of their small group had stumbled upon this particular vehicle roughly five miles out about a month ago on the way back from one of their scavenging runs, or it could've been three weeks ago, she wasn't sure; it was difficult to tell with no calendar, though Marceline kept a diary in her pack that counted the days – whether it was for a purpose, or just to keep her sane, she didn't know. Perhaps it was the latter.

The car itself wasn't in too bad of shape either; the ignition parts were still intact, as was most of the engine; it just needed a few adjustments as well as a new fan belt, which made Marceline question why a vehicle such as this was just abandoned when in near perfect condition – very little blood, one broken window and only a few dents.

However, their group was running dangerously low on supplies, and had exhausted all means of nearby supply areas within their safe ten-mile radius; they had no choice but to move on – but without a vehicle, they were essentially trapped. It was either that, or they walk, and no one in their group had the slightest idea of where the next safe area was; they were surrounded by forestry and death on all sides, and nowhere near equipped enough to venture outside of their safe zone.

Also, the days were beginning to get shorter and cooler, and living in camping tents that were patched up with old clothes wasn't going to shield anyone from the cold for very long, especially the children and elderly. They needed shelter, and soon.

Unfortunately for them, another group had stumbled upon the vehicle just the other day. So, in an effort to dissuade them, Marceline had made the quick decision to sabotage the engine – much to the protests of her group – and hoped that it would send the unknown group on their way.

It was a bold move, perhaps even a stupid one, but she had to try.

Much to her dismay, Marceline watched from the nearby dense shrubbery just yesterday afternoon as some of their men had returned the following day to assess the damage she'd done. As they talked – quite loudly, which was an immediate red flag – Marceline took notice of just how clean and healthy these men looked; they weren't just any typical survivors, these men were strong and had weapons, and her gut clenched sourly as she realized that they must be from a much larger group somewhere nearby.

When the men had left after over an hour without even touching their tools, Marceline breathed a long sigh of relief, though something in the back of her mind told her that she wasn't out of the woods just yet. And judging by their actions, Marceline knew that they were definitely planning to return – how soon, she wasn't sure – but she didn't want to stick around long enough to find out if they, too, had a competent mechanic.

The sound of a twig snapped behind them, and they both looked to each other, jaws clenched.

"Could be another dead one," her companion, Ben, whispered. He then flicked the flashlight to the dense woods, and they held their breath, waiting for the typical wet growls and uneven footsteps that usually followed, but couldn't hear anything. "Should I go check it out?"

"We don't have time," Marceline replied impatiently, turning her attention back to the engine. "I'm nearly done."

Ben reluctantly returned the light to the engine and Marceline cursed as her grip suddenly gave way and the wrench slipped through her fingers. It fell through the gaps with a series of loud clangs, and she cursed again when she didn't hear the expected _thump_ of metal falling on dirt.

"Shit, shit, shit…" she murmured, quickly dropping to the ground on all fours. "Give me the light, quick," she urged.

Ben obeyed and quickly tossed her the flashlight. With a grunt, Marceline tried to wedge herself underneath the car, but even with her small frame, the rugged terrain of the woods prevented her from getting very far. She waved the light back and forth, but couldn't see the wrench.

"Can you see it?" Ben asked, voice thick with worry.

"No," she grunted. "See if you can find it," she instructed.

Ben nodded and went to stand over the engine where Marceline had been moments ago while she shone the light upward.

"I think it fell towards you left," she said. "Can you see it anywhere?"

"No," he replied. "Maybe try and—"

Marceline paused and waited for him to finish. "Try and what?"

No answer.

"Ben, what do you want me to try and—?"

"—do you hear that?" he asked, voice suddenly low.

Marceline tried to clamber out from underneath the car. "Hear what? Ben, what are you—?"

"Shh!" he hissed as he came over to where she was, roughly grabbing her by the wrist and hauling her from underneath the car. "Listen, do you hear that?"

Marceline rubbed her wrist, paused and listened. It was barely there, but she heard it – a faint rumbling sound. She looked to Ben, and even in the dim glow of the flashlight, she noticed that his usually calm expression was tightening with anxiety.

Ben was one of the few people in her group that she liked to have around – especially when it came to things like scavenging for vehicles and parts. He was about five years older than her nineteen-year-old self, and was one of the few people in the group who knew how to use a firearm. Ben was also a calm person, never acted on impulse, and always knew what to do in a bad situation.

And when Ben said that something didn't feel right, Marceline knew that something was wrong.

They both continued to listen, the sound gradually growing from a faint hum to a moderate growl; it was definitely getting closer. Marceline strained to identify the noise; she'd definitely heard this sound before, but it was different – muffled in a way that didn't make sense to her.

"What do we do?" she asked, watching the gears tick behind Ben's unblinking eyes.

Suddenly, a set of bright lights pierced through the darkness, causing Ben to drop the flashlight.

" _Run!"_

And they both took off, but before they could make just three steps, a loud _crack_ of a gun pierced the air, and Marceline heard Ben's cry of pain as he tumbled to the ground.

She skidded to a stop and whirled around to see Ben on the ground, clutching at his leg, and Marceline's stomach clenched in fear as she saw the anguish in his eyes.

" _Go!"_ he shouted, using his free hand to wave her on. "Go, just go!"

But Marceline hesitated, and in those last few seconds, she had sealed her fate indefinitely. She ran to his side, ignoring his plea to just leave him and run, and helped him to his feet. But before they could move, another shot pierced the air above their heads. Marceline ducked and tried to run, but Ben's weight caused them to both fall to the ground. He cried out again, and Marceline clung to him, putting herself between him and their attackers as they exited their vehicles and stepped forward.

The brightness of the headlights made it difficult to see just who had attacked them, but the dread in her stomach told Marceline had a fair idea of who they might be. In all, she counted six of them, and didn't miss the dark silhouettes of their weapons, either.

A palpable silence had fallen over the small clearing, save for Ben's laboured breathing.

The man in the middle then stepped forward, close enough that Marceline could make out his distinct features through the darkness; a receding hair-line and a thick moustache.

"Well shit," he said, pursing his lips at the sight of her wounded friend. "This isn't how I wanted things to go." He then shook his head and let out a long sigh. "Guess this needs to be quick then," he said – more to himself than to them.

Slowly, Marceline used her free hand to snake behind her to retrieve her knife, but Ben's tight warning grip on her thigh stopped her. She looked to him, and he gave a faint shake of his head, sweat already beading on his temples.

"First of all, I'm sorry we shot you, kid," the man in charge said, holding up his hands in defence before placing them on his own chest in a sincere manner. "We didn't plan on that – that's our bad."

His tone of voice was enough to send a shiver down Marceline's spine; the confidence and calmness behind it was unnerving, and she doubted the sincerity he attempted to show.

"What do you want?" Ben spat through gritted teeth from beside her.

The man ignored his question. "I'm Simon, and this here is something we've been planning on for a while now, actually." His dark, beady eyes then flicked over to Marceline, and the weight of the realization settled heavily in her chest.

 _That car… it was a trap, and they've been watching us this whole time?!_

The man – Simon – stepped forward and crouched in front of them, hands clasped and elbows coming to rest on his bent knees. Marceline tried to shuffle backward, but the fear of being caught and possibly being killed weighed her down. Ben's grip tightened on her thigh once again, both comforting her and urging her to be careful.

"You see, we're in a bit of a pickle," he explained with what she defined as a sheepish grin. "I won't bore you with the graphic details," he said, using air-quotes, "but a buddy of ours got himself killed not too long ago."

"So, w-what's that got t-to do with us?"

Simon's eyes flicked down to Ben's bleeding leg, his unsettling features contorting into a grimace.

"Shit, that looks uncomfortable," Simon commented with a chuckle before reaching out to give his thigh a slap, causing Ben to wail and clutch his leg. "As for your question, you'll find out soon enough. But for now, we're going to need your weapons."

Simon then stood to his feet, eyes pointedly looking at Marceline when they both hesitated. "Don't think I didn't see you reaching for a knife, there, little lady," he said, raising his eyebrows. "Hand it over, and we'll help your friend here."

Marceline looked to Ben, who was on the verge of slipping out of consciousness. She could see the refusal in his eyes, urging her to not give in, but the desire to save her only friend ultimately won, and so, Marceline reluctantly reached behind her and retrieved the knife. She spun the blade so that the handle faced toward a grinning Simon, who reached down and grabbed it with enthusiasm.

He appreciatively spun the weapon around a few times before sheathing it in one of the belt rungs on his jeans, next to a pair of handcuffs. "You keep on following the rules and you'll be just fine," Simon said with a smile as he signalled for his men.

Two of them began collecting the tools that Marceline had kept in her backpack, which was still by the abandoned truck, and Marceline felt her heart sink; she'd risked her life for those tools and they were just… taking them, like it was so easy. More men jumped from the trucks and quickly surrounded them, two of them reaching down to carefully lift Ben up, who had since passed out due to the significant blood loss from the gunshot wound, but Marceline quickly intervened – more out of a fear of being separated than her concern for Ben's welfare.

His men quickly apprehended her, gripping her upper arms as well as her hair, and Marceline struggled to fight back, managing to kick one of the men in the groin. But weeks without sufficient food had made them both weak, so he recovered quite quickly, but not without shooting a glare in her direction. Simon laughed before he tisked twice, shaking his head as they dragged Marceline a few feet away.

"Still got some fight left," he chuckled, reaching for the set of cuffs that hung on his belt. "I like that, but we can't have that groin-kicking shit," he said as they both watched two more men come and take Ben away to a nearby truck, Marceline looking after him as the men ungraciously released their grip on her upper arms and headed toward the other truck.

"Promise me," she said with a shaky voice as they released her, looking up at Simon as he roughly turned her around and began to cuff her. "Promise me that he'll be okay."

Simon then bowed graciously. "You have my word."


	3. Chapter 3

**Let me know if you're enjoying yourselves. Also, many thanks to those who have reviewed/followed so far.**

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Marceline had never felt so anxious before – she tried to lose herself in the constant pre-sunrise blur of trees that passed by the window, but she couldn't tear her mind away from Ben; she had no idea if he was even alive or not; in their experience, when someone was wounded, they often ended up dead since the infection was known to take hold rather quickly.

The sick feeling in her stomach was only amplified by the silence between herself and the man named Simon, save for the rhythmic creaking of the truck as it bounded down the road and the static of his hand-held radio. He drove in a manner so casual that it nearly drove Marceline insane; one hand lazily gripped the steering wheel while the other rested gently on the gear-stick, despite the fact that Marceline knew that the truck was an automatic.

"So, what's your name?" he asked.

Marceline almost jumped at the sound of his voice, but refused to answer his question, and kept her gaze fixed firmly out the window. She shifted in her seat, shoulders and wrists aching; sitting in a chair with your hands cuffed behind your back wasn't exactly the most comfortable position.

Simon sighed and moved his hand from the gear-stick to give her thigh a quick squeeze. It wasn't sexual by any means; it was more or less something that a parent would often do to comfort or reassure a child.

"Ah, don't sweat it, kid," Simon assured her in a cheerful tone. "Look, I get why you're nervous – some big scary guys come out of the woods and start shooting at you before they take you and your boyfriend away; I get it – but you have nothing to be worried about. Negan is a good man, he'll take care of you. We take care of our own."

At that last comment, Marceline turned to look at Simon, whose gaze was fixed on the road in front of him. When he didn't elaborate any further, Marceline sighed and returned her gaze to the window when a tall, looming structure ahead of them caught her eye.

The large flood-lights lit up the front gate, though the glow from the early sunrise in the background was strong enough to illuminate the silhouette of the enormous factory-like structure and the surroundings behind it. She also noticed how incredibly high the fences were, as well as the numerous armed guards that stood by the gates as they were opened. This place looked like it was sealed up tighter than Fort Knox, and something told Marceline that she and Ben wouldn't be leaving this place any time soon.

Once the truck stopped, Marceline sighed as Simon hopped out and came to open her door. She wordlessly stepped out, refusing to take his outstretched hand; he damn well knew that she couldn't, since she was still cuffed. Marceline wasn't sure if it was a sincere gesture or just a cruel attempt at a joke, but either way, it irked her. She dutifully kept her mouth shut as he led her away from the trucks. As they walked, she spied some of his men carrying Ben from the back of the truck and in the opposite direction. She was somewhat relieved to see him on a stretcher rather than simply being carried, though she still ached to see him.

"All in due time," Simon said from behind her as if reading her mind, hand coming to rest on her shoulder. "But for now, you need to come with me."

Marceline roughly shrugged his hand off and fixed him with a cold glare. "Only if you let me see him after."

Simon gave her a once over before giving her a slight nod. "Don't worry, he'll be fine. But first, the big guy wants to see you." He then gestured for her to follow him, and she did.

His earlier comment about a man named Negan didn't escape her, and with a heavy sense of dread, Marceline reluctantly followed Simon into the bowels of the prison-like community. She supposed that she should've been paying closer attention to where Simon was leading her, though it was the sheer size of the community and volume of people that had captured her attention instead – she'd never seen so many people in one place since the outbreak had begun.

For the longest time, Marceline believed that no large communities such as this had even existed anymore; when the outbreak began, there were always rumours of a safe-zone out there somewhere – a sanctuary, if you will – though after a year of searching with no success, her group had made the decision to give up.

After that day, it was difficult to keep moving forward; what else was there to look forward to, now that they'd given up their search for a safe zone?

But Marceline had refused to give up.

She often doubted that the outbreak had killed more people than what were still alive, despite what others would say, and secretly believed that somewhere out there really was a safe-zone out there with food, water, and shelter – she just had to find it. But as the months dragged on, and as their group had gotten smaller, she began to lose hope.

Until now, it seemed.

However, there was no time for reliving her lost hopes; the events of the past few hours were beginning to take a toll on her. Physically, she was exhausted, and paid absolutely no mind to where she walked, or whom she passed on the way there; the sheer volume of the compound was overwhelming enough to say the least. Just how big was this place, anyway?

In all honesty, Marceline just wanted the day to be over, but something told her that her day was just beginning.

They walked for what seemed like ages through various corridors and up several flights of steel stairs until they reached a large set of sleek, dark wooden doors; a stark difference to the cold, rusted metal ones she'd been passing only moments earlier.

Simon stopped before the doors and knocked only twice. He cast her a brief glance, so brief that if she blinked she would've missed it. But she didn't, and was suddenly cold with fear; just who was this man, and what exactly did he want from her?

As far as she could tell, that car had been a trap – not exactly an elaborate one, though she should've seen it coming from a mile away; no one just leaves a car in such good nick in the middle of the woods. But they were weak, starving, and desperate; it was no wonder that she didn't figure it out sooner. And what frightened her more was that it was also apparent that they had been watching her – but why, and for what reason, Marceline couldn't figure that out.

Marceline was pulled out of her thoughts as Simon opened the door – had she even heard a voice call from the other side? – and stood to the side to let her in. She blinked, and with a slight jut of his chin that assured her that it was okay, she entered the room, a little nervous that Simon hadn't bothered to remove the cuffs.

The only detail that didn't escape her was how _clean_ the room was. It was practically untouched and a stark juxtaposition against the current mess of the outside world – a large desk sat in the middle of the room, cluttered with papers, along with two leather couches and a coffee table. The curtains were drawn open, the bright morning light shining in and leaving glowing streaks across the wooden floor.

And sitting on the couch was the man himself, looking quite relaxed, clad in dark pants and a white t-shirt with a glass of something golden-brown clutched in his hand.

Marceline flinched as the door closed, and she suddenly wished that Simon had stayed, even if it was just to have a familiar face nearby. She swallowed thickly as she met his gaze, and he gestured silently for her to take a seat on the couch opposite him.

With nowhere to run and nothing to defend herself with, Marceline let her eyes fall to the floor as she slowly walked over and took a seat on the edge of the couch, eyes itching to meet his gaze but the fear knotting in her stomach keeping them downcast. It was a brief, although agonizing moment, before he spoke.

"Let's make a deal, sweetheart," he said, swirling the amber liquid around before downing the remaining contents in one motion. "I know you have some questions, which I will answer, but only as long as you answer mine first, got it?"

She nodded. _Not exactly much of a choice…_

"Great," he said, bringing himself up so that his elbows rested on his thighs. "You already know my name, so, let's start with yours."

She cleared her throat. It wasn't exactly a question, but a statement that nonetheless required a response. "Marceline."

Negan nodded once, seemingly pleased with her answer. "Pretty. And your friend?"

Marceline hesitated, though she wasn't sure why. "Is he going to be okay?"

He held up a hand. "Not so fast, kid," he drawled. "You haven't answered all of my questions yet."

Marceline frowned. "You haven't answered mine."

Negan gave her a once over before letting out a soft chuckle. "All right, let's do it your way, since you've been very co-operative thus far and haven't tried to kill anybody." He then leaned back into the couch, letting his arms coming to rest across along the back on each side in a relaxed manner.

"Yes, your friend is fine," he said with a nod after a brief moment.

Marceline couldn't help the long breath that escaped past her lips, and she felt her aching shoulders sag with relief.

"It's Ben, his name is Ben," she responded softly. If she'd learned one thing about being confronted with men in positions of power, it was to play to their rules, and to tread extremely carefully. It wasn't difficult to learn of their intentions, though this time, Marceline felt as though this man was going to be different from the others, and decided to word her responses very carefully.

"My turn – and I should warn you, Marcy, that I do not like to repeat myself, nor do I enjoy being lied to. If you want this to play to your advantage, I suggest you answer very carefully."

Her stomach clenched at the abbreviation of her name, but she nodded nonetheless.

"How many people are in your group?"

But Marceline couldn't help herself. "Why?"

Negan rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I need more man-power, and if your group is worth checking out, then I need to know what I'm going to be up against."

She had so many more questions, like why a man with a fortress such as this could possibly need even more people, but bit back and sighed again. "There's eleven of us, two of them are children – please don't hurt them, they're good people," she added quickly.

At this, Negan actually laughed, which thoroughly confused Marceline even more. Usually, when they were challenged by another group, their intentions were always less than honourable, and people often ended up taken, or dead. However, Negan appeared the opposite thus far. In fact, if Marceline had put any further thought into it, he was almost… friendly.

"Now, I can see where you'd get an idea like that," he said sombrely. "But around here, we don't hurt women and children – that shit does not and will never fly here. Secondly, judging by your shitty clothes and pale face, I am going to assume that your group is in some desperate need of food and water – and possibly shelter. Am I wrong?"

Marceline didn't enjoy the way she felt right in that moment; it was all so confusing, and it was exhausting just keeping her guard up. This world of violence and constant vigilance that she'd gotten so used to had just revealed another layer unto itself, and brought a lot of things into question. Just what kind of place was this guy running? Were his words to be trusted? She desperately wanted to keep asking questions, to ask why he was being so nice, why his men just hadn't killed them and taken the car, but it was just so overwhelming.

But for now, Marceline nodded, letting her eyes fall to her lap.

"I thought as much," he said, settling deeper into the couch. He then jutted his chin toward her. "But for now, it's your turn."

Marceline chose her next words carefully, looking him in the eye as she did.

"What do you want? From me, I mean."

Negan smiled. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

Marceline frowned. "That car was a trap," she claimed.

Negan's smile grew wider, letting his tongue run over his bottom teeth. "You got me," he said, though he clearly wasn't surprised. "You cut straight to the point – I like that. Nothin' gets past you." He then stood to his feet and walked over to a nearby table and poured himself another glass.

"What I want, dear Marcy, is you."

Well, that wasn't quite what she expected to hear.

"How do you mean?" she asked, eyeing him cautiously as he reclaimed his seat on the couch, suddenly very aware of how vulnerable she was – a handcuffed teenaged girl sitting directly opposite a man who looked like he could hoist her over his shoulder like it was nothing. Just what did he mean by that? Despite his earlier claim of their refusal to hurt women and children, a plethora of dark thoughts ran through her mind as she realized that he could just take her here and now, and nobody was there to save her if she started screaming.

He slowly took another sip, obviously enjoying the way his ominous words hung in the air.

"You're a mechanic," he stated flatly, eyes flicking down to her grease-stained shirt and black fingers. "And, as it so happens, I'm in the market for a new one."

Marceline could've positively fainted with relief, but her thoughts instantly flashed back to Simon's earlier comment of how one of their buddies had gotten himself killed recently. Could that have been their mechanic?

"Now," he said, finishing his drink in one swift motion, "I'm sure you're wondering if there's a catch."

"I would be lying if I said I didn't."

Negan chuckled. "Smart kid. The catch is, Marcy, that there is no catch. I want you to work for me, simple as that."

"What about Ben?"

Negan admired the contents of his glass. "I only need you."

"But, you just said—!"

"Your group has the option to join us," Negan cut in, silencing her. "But it's gotta be the whole group, or no one at all."

Marceline's shoulders sagged. If Ben were to stay, then he'd need to return and convince the rest of the group to join this… whatever it was. But that meant that Ben had to leave, and that didn't sit well with her – he was injured, and couldn't possibly make it back on his own.

As if reading her thoughts, Negan spoke. "Simon will take him back to your group, where he will then ask your people to join us."

Marceline met Negan's gaze and she swallowed thickly. "And if the vote isn't unanimous?"

Negan shrugged. "Then they part ways, no harm no foul."

"And how can I trust that you won't just kill them for refusing to join you?"

Negan winked. "You're just going to have to trust me."


	4. Chapter 4

**What do you guys think of Ben so far? Let me know your thoughts.**

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 _You're just going to have to trust me._

Marceline let her gaze fall to the floor, head swimming with confusion.

What reason had he given her to trust him? Sure, his words may seem nice, but all he and his men had done was shoot and kidnap them – hardly a reason to trust him at all. And who was to say that he would stay true to his word – or any of his words, for that matter?

Negan's earlier claim about not harming women and children could be complete bullshit for all she knew; if she refused his offer, what was to stop him from throwing her onto the floor and having his way with her, and then slitting her throat afterwards? What was to stop him from using Ben to take him and his army of men back to their group and killing them all?

But her old hopes of finding a sanctuary quickly bubbled to the surface.

 _Did you not see how massive this place is? And how well-guarded the walls are? This is the place you've been looking for since it all began!_

While that may have been true, the old adage of if _it's too good to be true, then it probably is_ , rang strongly through her mind. Negan's words were too… calculated, too carefully chosen, and that didn't sit well with her; they left a bad taste in her mouth. They were just too nice, especially for someone in a position of power and who was in charge of so many people.

 _But you don't know these people… as far as you're concerned, they're the enemy._

But was she willing to risk it, though? Was she really willing to risk the lives of the people in her group because of an old saying, because of a hunch? After all, they were extremely low on supplies, and winter was quickly setting in; they needed food, shelter, and water – and soon.

"We can protect you here," Negan's voice broke through her thoughts. Marceline looked up at him, blinking. "We take care of our own. All you have to do," he said, raising his newly refilled glass, "is say yes."

The torment was obvious on her face; she could tell by the way he was reading her expression, and it made her feel uncomfortable. She could see the smirk of victory in his eyes with every second that passed, and it frustrated her to know that he already knew her answer before she even voiced it aloud.

But while Negan may have the upper hand, Marceline wasn't without merit. He may have laid the foundations, but she had control over the framing to the terms and conditions of his offer.

"You have to promise me that if they don't all agree, you'll leave them alone," she said.

Negan nonchalantly twirled his glass between his fingers. "Why do you care what happens to them?"

Marceline didn't relent and ignored the thumping in her chest. "Promise me," she repeated firmly.

Negan's grin grew wider, revealing two rows of perfect teeth. "Well, I've never been known to say no to a lady," he said. "You got yourself a deal."

He then reached into his pocket and tossed something in her direction. As it landed in her lap, Marceline realized that it was the keys to the handcuffs. She made quick work of the metal contraption as Negan stood to his feet and responded to a knock at the door. Marceline followed suit, rubbing at her wrists as the door opened.

"Marcy, this is Laura," Negan announced, turning so she could see a short blonde woman with a hard expression standing on the threshold. "She's gonna show you around."

Marceline looked to Negan, and then back to Laura.

"Come on kid, I don't bite," Laura snapped in an east-coast accent, crossing her arms over her chest. "Move it or lose it."

Negan chuckled as Marceline followed Laura, who had already turned on her heel, not bothering to look back to see if she was following.

They headed down the hallway and down the same several flights of stairs Marceline had come up only moments earlier, Laura's steps short but quick. Soon, they were outside, the breeze fresh but the sun was bright and warm, even though winter was well on its way.

Marceline fell in step beside Laura, taking in the surroundings as they walked. People bustled at every turn; some with food and supplies, others with weapons. She even saw a handful of women and children which was surprising, though comforting.

As Marceline looked around, she spied Laura glancing at her grease-covered shirt.

"Looks like you ain't afraid of hard work," she commented with a snort. "You'll fit right in. We all work to earn our keep 'round here."

"Everyone works?" Marceline asked as they rounded a corner.

Laura nodded. "Sure do. Everyone works for points. You wanna eat? You need points. You want new clothes? You need points."

Marceline hesitated with her next question. "What happens when you run out of points?"

Laura suddenly stopped, Marceline nearly bumping into her.

"You work on the wall."

Following Laura's stern gaze, Marceline's eyes widened in quiet horror to see a tall chain-link fence with dozens of the dead chained all about. But that wasn't what scared her; there were people fending them off with weapons while some just avoided them by staying out of their reach, much like helpless animals facing a large grizzly bear. Her gut churned uncomfortably at the sound of the dry rasping and clamping of teeth. The cries and pants of those working on the wall were painful to hear, and when one of them narrowly missed a set of rotted jaws by a hair's breadth, well, it was enough to make Marceline look away.

"Let's get you a new shirt. First one's on the house."

Marceline swallowed thickly, lingering for a moment longer before catching up to Laura, who began to make her way over to a large steel-framed shed.

Much to her surprise, the inside of the shed was like a small farmer's market or a flea market, similar to the ones she'd seen back home. Stalls lined up from the front door and all the way toward the back, the various goods – shoes, socks, pants, shirts, and jackets – all displayed in wooden crates, plastic storage tubs or old clothing racks. Other goods were bags, belts, and even a little jewellery.

Laura grabbed an empty backpack and surveyed some of the stock while Marceline closely followed behind. She watched silently as Laura threw in a toothbrush, a bar of soap, and a comb – all of which they seemed to have plenty of, Marceline noticed. They continued to walk some more until she stopped in front of a table and gave a slight nod to the older woman who stood on the other side.

"Pick out whatever you want," Laura said, tossing her the backpack. "Two bottom crates only. You'll need more points if you want the good shit on the racks, kid."

Marceline crouched down and began rummaging through the two bottom crates as instructed. Not wanting to waste any time, she quickly picked out a long-sleeved grey flannelette shirt, a white t-shirt, and a pair of faded sweatpants before pulling out some khaki shorts that had a small tear near the pocket. She looked down at her current pair that she was wearing and noticed that they were free from any grease stains. She dutifully put them back, not wanting to overstep any boundaries.

In the next crate, she pulled out a couple pairs of socks and a few pairs of underwear, as well as a bra. Marceline forwent folding any of the items of clothing and simply shoved everything in the backpack and stood to her feet.

Laura then held out her hand, and in it, Marceline noticed it was a watch – it was small, with a simple silver face and a worn-out leather band.

"Keep it on you at all times. You'll need it." Laura then motioned for her to follow, and they exited the shed.

Next, they were heading over to a similar steel-framed building where Marceline could see quite a few people starting to gather inside. Looking at the watch that Laura gave her, it read just past seven, which most likely meant that it was breakfast time.

As they got closer, Marceline was nearly salivating. Her stomach clenched hopefully, suddenly realizing just how long it had been since she'd eaten anything.

"First meal is on the house," Laura informed her as they stepped inside. Marceline followed as they went to go and stand in a growing line of people.

Marceline looked around. There was a sense of normality present in this place; people lined up, plates in hand, much like her high-school cafeteria as they waited patiently for their food. Watching hungrily, she noticed that their plates were decently filled with things like eggs and bread, as well as baked beans. Some, however, were more heaped than others. Marceline quickly put two and two together as she watched the few men and women walk away with food such as bacon, vegetables and fruit.

"You earn more, you eat more," Laura said as if reading her thoughts. "Those who do the more dangerous jobs earn more points." She handed her a plate and began serving herself some bread, eggs and fruit, and Marceline only took what Laura took, even though that bacon looked utterly delicious.

"Everything you see here was either farmed or found." Laura then headed over to an empty table by the far corner and sat down. Marceline didn't bother to wait, and had devoured her bread roll on the way to the table in two massive bites.

"Really?" she asked, surprised. "I thought the outbreak killed all the animals?"

Laura shovelled a spoonful of eggs into her mouth. "The dead killed most of the animals, the outbreak didn't. While they may not be a lot left roaming around, we always manage to find some."

"What animals do you have?" Marceline asked in between bites.

"Chickens, mostly. We only use them for the eggs though. Sometimes we kill one for food, but that shit costs about a week's worth of points. We also got a couple of pigs the other day."

"I noticed," Marceline said, referring to the bacon.

Laura snorted. "Yeah, the fat one we had finally went. I got my name down for half a rack of ribs when they get through carvin' him up."

They ate the rest of their food in silence, which didn't take very long since Marceline practically inhaled everything on her plate. Laura often looked up from her plate to watch her as she ate, but never commented, and the few times she looked like she was about to, Laura would look back to her plate.

 _She's nice enough,_ Marceline thought. _A little rough around the edges, but certainly not hostile or outright rude._

"What?" Marceline asked, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

Laura shook her head. "You look like you've been rolling around in a pig-sty." She then scrunched her nose. "Smells like it too."

 _Well, maybe a little rude._

Laura then stood to her feet and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "Come on, I'll show you where the showers are."

Marceline balked.

 _Actual showers?!_

Laura was already making her way to the door and Marceline had to apologize to the few people she had rudely though accidentally bumped into on the way out.

It was a slightly long walk, but Laura had led her to a blue-ish grey bricked building that was located behind the largest building within the compound. Marceline fell out of step as she gazed up at the looming structure, wondering what they used it for.

"I don't have all day!" Laura called over to her from the entrance.

Marceline jogged over, just barely getting through the door as it was closing. A towel was suddenly tossed at her, which she missed with her hands and instead caught with her face. She followed Laura through the hallways and eventually came across a block of showers that were similar to those found in a high-school gym – ugly mint green tiling, each stall separated by a tiled wall – though they were bigger and not as well kempt.

"These showers are guarded in the morning and at night," she explained. "Everyone has a designated day for showering, so if you were thinkin' of wetting those pretty locks every night, well, guess again, princess. We each get two days a week, but you can buy more with points."

The shower block was empty, save for the guard who stood silently by the door, gun slung over his shoulder. A collection of shampoo and conditioner bottles sat on a nearby shelf along with a washing basket filled with used towels.

"Ladies shower down here, and the men shower upstairs. They're also rigged with three-minute timers. In and out, no messing around."

Marceline nodded and began to undress until Laura interrupted her.

"Woah, not so fast, kid. I'm afraid today's not your day." Laura then checked her watch. "And as much as I'd like to stay and play babysitter, I'm needed elsewhere. Come on."


End file.
